


Take a Breath

by chinuplilpup



Category: DCU
Genre: Belting, Brat Jason Todd, Community: dckinkmeme, Dom/sub, Good Slade Wilson, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Punishment, lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:34:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26262724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chinuplilpup/pseuds/chinuplilpup
Summary: Jason has had Slade's phone number for a while. Either Deathstroke keeps his business and personal contacts on the same device, or he gave Jason his personal number from the beginning. Or, possibly, he lets Jason sext his business phone.There's no good option, really.
Relationships: Jason Todd/Slade Wilson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 166





	Take a Breath

**Author's Note:**

> for the [dckinkmeme prompt](https://dckinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/766.html?thread=130558#cmt130558): 
> 
> Jason and Slade in an established BDSM relationship.  
> Jason is the brattiest of all brats who knows how to get on Slade's nerves and enjoys finding loopholes to all of Slade's rules and provoking the hell out of him.  
> Slade snapping and punishing him, and Jason fighting back until Slade makes him take the punishment and submit.

Jason has had Slade's phone number for a while. Either Deathstroke keeps his business and personal contacts on the same device, or he gave Jason his personal number from the beginning. Or, possibly, he lets Jason sext his business phone. 

There's no good option, really. It means that Jason opens up a text from Deathstroke and it says, "Were you good for me?"

Jason doesn't ask how Slade knows he's back in Gotham three days ahead of schedule.

> how do you mean?
> 
> Don't be shy now. Let me see. 

Jason flushes. Slade has that effect on him even when he's not there with him. He’s tired, sore all over, his hair dripping from the shower, and still his stomach clenches in anticipation. He wonders if Slade texting first means he’s in Gotham too.

If that’s the case, he’s not going to miss the chance to rile him up.

> what's in it for me?
> 
> So you want to be punished?
> 
> when did i say that? nudes aren't free, old man
> 
> How about you do what I ask now and I won't belt your ass raw?

Jason squirms on the couch. Fuck. Another text comes in before he can start typing a response.

> Or is that what you want?
> 
> no
> 
> I don't believe you.  
>  If you didn’t want me to punish you, you wouldn’t be so fucking disrespectful
> 
> no, i dont want that, SIR
> 
> Closer.
> 
> that’s all you get
> 
> you still haven’t said what’s in it for me
> 
> Next time I see you I’m going to give you exactly the punishment you deserve. 

Jason sighs, convinced, and starts unbuckling his belt.

The next time he sees Slade is two days later. He’s staying at the same safehouse--he plans to spend another few days sleeping off the bruises and jet lag--and as he walks around the building he notices that the window to the studio apartment has been opened and relatched. 

He drops his grocery bags of ramen, beer, and soda off in the hallway outside his door and takes out his keys and the gun from his waistband. He’s not really worried; a few of the bats know about this safehouse--namely, Dick and Cass. If Jason had to rank the bats by most likely to physically stalk him instead of just bugging his place, those two names would top the list. 

Still, he unlocks and opens the door as quickly and quietly as he can, and steps in with his gun held level to the ground but ready to aim. 

Slade is on his couch. 

“Fuck,” Jason says. 

“Hello to you, too.” 

Jason--is glad to see him. A weight on his chest that he hadn’t noticed falls away and it’s just a little bit easier to breathe. “Who told you about this place?” If it was Dick, he’ll--

Slade raises one eyebrow--the one above his eyepatch--and looks at him like he’s an idiot. “You did.” 

Yeah, texting him from his minimally-encrypted personal phone while sitting on that couch wasn’t the best idea. Jason shoves the gun into his waistband, pulls his keys out of the lock, and goes back down the hallway for his groceries. “You could have texted,” he says, throwing the bags on the floor.

“More fun this way,” Slade says. 

Jason sits on the couch and pulls out two beers. They’re still chilled and he got them both for himself, but he doesn’t mind sharing. 

Slade’s in what passes for civilian clothes for him. He’s got on leather boots and a belt, and a jacket that covers most of the harnesses that hold guns at his sides. Jason catches a glimpse of one when Slade takes the beer. He himself is in his own version of civilian clothes, a step more casual than Slade’s: jeans, an old t-shirt, and a holster clipped to his belt. 

Slade looks him up and down, not bothering to be secretive about it. “You injured anywhere?”

“No.” Jason drinks half of his beer in one go. Just one isn’t even enough to wet his tongue with but he’s not annoyed about it. There’s better ways to relax than a buzz. “Why? You worried?”

“Hm.” Slade grabs Jason’s arm and drags him around to straddle his lap. Jason’s grin widens as he lets himself be dragged. He ends up straddling Slade’s waist. Jason isn’t a small man but next to Slade he feels fragile. It’s not a horrible feeling.

As much as Jason boasts that he can take a beating, Slade’s body can take more and probably has. Jason might be a little broader, but Slade is stronger. 

Slade takes the beer from Jason’s hand, then leans down and puts both Jason’s and his on the floor next to the couch. 

“You’re nervous,” Slade says. The meta freak can probably hear his heartbeat speed up. “Did you touch yourself?”

Jason makes an effort to breathe normally. “I didn’t come without you.”

“Did you touch yourself?” Slade asks flatly. He puts his hands on Jason’s waist, holding him loosely for now.

Jason stares into his one eye, not blinking. “When I sent you those pictures, yeah.”

“I don’t know if you think I’m stupid,” Slade says slowly, “But you need to answer the question.”

A thrill shoots through Jason’s stomach. “I thought I did.”

Slade’s fingers dig into Jason’s waist. “Looks like I know the answer,” he growled. “How many times did you touch yourself?”

“I never said I--”

Slade hits him across the face, too fast for Jason to see it coming let alone try to duck. Jason’s head snaps to the side with the force of it and lets out a surprised breath, and then Slade grips his chin and turns him back. 

“You’re already getting punished tonight. Don’t pile it on, boy,” he says. A shiver runs down Jason’s spine. He likes that. He won’t ever ask for it, but he likes when Slade calls him that and talks down to him, as much as he likes the fading sting on his cheek. “Tell the truth and maybe you’ll spare yourself some pain.” 

Jason’s lip curls up and Slade gives him a shake by his grip on Jason’s chin. 

“No? All right.” Slade lets go of him and stands up, and Jason lets himself fall into a heap on the floor, and doesn’t fight to keep his balance when Slade grips the neck of his shirt and half-drags him into the bedroom. He ends up on his hands and knees at Slade’s feet. “Over the bed.”

Jason glares up at him. 

“Bend over the bed, or I’ll put you there,” Slade says.

Jason makes him put him there. He thrashes wildly, not fighting but making it hard for Slade to move him. Enough that he’s panting by the time he accidentally clips Slade’s nose with a toss of his head and Slade mutters, “Jesus, quit it.”

He goes limp and lets Slade throw him stomach-down on the mattress. He tosses his head against the sheets, trying to get a look at him. “What, tired of the fighting, old man?”

“I like the fight just fine.” Slade grabs Jason’s calves and drags him down the bed and drops his feet on the floor. “If you break my face I’ll like it a lot less.” 

Jason kicks his legs half-heartedly to get back into the mood--not that he ever dropped far out of it, with the way Slade manhandled him like it was nothing--and Slade shoves him back and braces his boot against the back of his knee. 

“Tell you what,” he drawls. “One last chance, boy. Take off your belt and show me that ass, and I’ll forget that you’ve been resisting this whole time. One more chance to show me that you can be a good--”

“Fuck you, fucking pervert. If you want a good boy, you know I’m not him.” Jason fists his hands in the sheets.

Slade takes one of his wrists and twists that arm behind his back until Jason sucks in a breath and goes still. It doesn’t hurt, but if he moves then it will. Slade chuckles and steps closer, placing his feet on the outside of Jason’s and pressing him into the side of the bed. 

“Nothing to say?”

“Fuck y-you.” Jason hiccups when Slade pushes a little harder on his arm halfway through and pain shoots through his shoulder. A taste of the type of pain Slade gives him, the type that wipes every other thought from his head. 

Slade sighs. Then he reaches with both hands under Jason’s waist to his belt. Jason struggles and paws at his arms but his hands shake with adrenaline and Slade’s too strong, too good, and as soon as he has the belt unbuckled he shoves Jason’s head into the sheets and rips it out of the belt loops with one hand. 

“You still haven’t told me,” Slade says, his voice infuriatingly even. He yanks Jason’s jeans down to his knees. His hand is still fisted in Jason’s hair, pushing him face-down into the mattress, holding him there. “How many times did you touch yourself without my permission?”

Jason shakes his head and says nothing. 

Slade sighs out long. “I’m disappointed in you.” 

There’s no warning before the first hit on Jason’s ass. Even through the fabric of his boxers, it hurts. Jason grits his teeth and keeps quiet as Slade hits him again and again and again. It helps that Slade keeps his head buried in the sheets, keeping him in place. His ass must be cherry red by the time Slade stops and drags his boxers down to pool above his jeans. 

Slade lets go of his hair and steps away, and Jason stays put. 

“How many times?” he asks. 

Sometimes Jason feels like a broken record, like he's boring. But he's not that guy, not smart like Slade or quick-witted or anything, he's just--persistent. He keeps fighting and that's all he's got going for him. So he says, “Fuck you.”

Slade hums. He always sounds calm even when he's angry. "You could have made it easier on yourself, you know."

The first strike of the folded belt against the backs of Jason's thighs makes him yip and whine like a dog. His muscles lock up at the pain and freeze him in place for Slade's second hit, layered expertly above the first. It hurts even more, and he grunts.

"That was two," Slade says evenly.

Jason makes it to seven before he tries to wriggle and dance away from the next hit, hindered by the clothing bunched around his knees. Slade slams an open palm down on the fiery red marks left by the belt. 

"Stay where I fucking put you, boy."

And Jason does, or he tries, because this is something else he's good at. He can fight and he can take pain, and pain from Slade leaves a good kind of white buzz in his head, edging out other things. But Slade hits him two, three, four more times, and he sobs into the crook of his arm and throws his other hand back to protect himself.

"You're not done." Slade slaps the belt against his palm relatively softly, only enough to sting. "Should I tie you?"

"No." Jason can do it, he has before and will again. He rubs his burning skin once more, pressing against the welts, and then lays on top of his hands, both of them clenched into fists. 

The next swing makes him shout. 

“Are you ready to be honest with me?”

Jason clenches his fists tighter and doesn’t say anything. 

Slade hits him again. There’s no more unmarked skin so each new lash falls over red, raised skin. It hurts, it hurts, and Jason has to tense every muscle in his body to stay still so he can’t try to mitigate the pain by relaxing, not fighting, leaning into it. He has to feel every single one. Tears coat his cheeks by the time Slade suddenly stops. 

A rough hand runs over his skin, pushing a rough moan out of his chest. 

“I wish you wouldn’t make me do this,” Slade sighs. “If you’d just tell me…”

“Fuck you,” Jason spits. “Motherfucker, you fucking piece of shit. You’re getting off on this, aren’t you? Fuck--” 

He cuts himself off when Slade steps in right behind him and grinds himself against Jason’s red ass. The rough fabric of his jeans feels like sandpaper, and even through them Jason can feel Slade’s hard cock. 

“Fuck you!” he finishes, pushing himself up on his hands only for Slade to throw him down again. 

“Tell me what I need to punish you for, and we don’t have to worry about this unpleasantness anymore.” Slade rubs against him again, slow and decadent as Jason whimpers at the pain. “How about we practice telling the truth, hm? Are you hard right now?”

He is. Jason squirms and tries to buck Slade off him. It does about as much good as trying to throw a boulder off his back. Slade puts a hand between his shoulder blades and then he’s well and truly pinned. Another hand slips between his legs from behind and cups his erection. 

“Tell me, boy. Yes or no?” Slade squeezes the base of his cock threateningly. Jason squeaks. 

“Yes.” 

“Louder.”

“Yes!”

“Did you touch yourself without my permission?”

“Yes!” Jason tries to buck Slade off again, managing to get up on his elbows. 

Slade allows him that. He strokes his cock once before letting it go to bounce against his thigh, a small touch that nevertheless makes Jason’s knees threaten to buckle. “How many times did you touch yourself?” 

Jason’s breath leaves him in a sob and he hangs his head between his shoulders. “Fuck.” 

“Your choice how long this goes on.” Slade’s thumb rubs along a raised welt on the back of his thigh, a small bright spot of pain that’s easier to focus on than the buzz of full-body ache threatening to edge Jason out of his own head. 

“Twice, okay?” Jason’s mouth moves faster than his brain can catch up. “Just--just twice.”

Slade hums. “Two times.” He rolls Jason’s balls in his palm. Jason gasps and tries to squeeze his legs together to get more of the sensation, but snaps them apart again when he accidentally puts pressure on marks from the belt. “Did you come?”

Jason shakes his head wildly. “No. I-- no.”

“I believe you. Good boy.”

Jason hears it loud and clear this time. A shiver visibly wracks his spine and he twists in Slade’s grip, trying to pull away and show that no, he’s not--

Slade’s hand closes around his cock and starts to twist up and down, so quick and dry that it hurts. Jason tries to move back but that just presses his ass against Slade’s harsh jeans. He can’t go anywhere, can’t do anything but take it. Slade’s palm becomes slightly more slick with precome, and Jason’s glad for it even though it isn’t much. Pleasure wins out over pain before long and he groans through his teeth. 

“Yeah, you like it when it hurts,” Slade says, almost like he’s talking to himself. “Tell me when you’re going to come. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

Jason nods distractedly and then he’s about to tip over the edge. It rushes up on him suddenly, and his stomach drops for a second when he thinks he’s too late. But all he has to say is, “Ah, Slade--” before Slade lets go of him.

Jason feels his cock pulse and his gut burns as the orgasm slowly fades away. 

“That was good,” Slade says matter of factly. “One more.”

He shoves Jason flat against the bed before Jason can say anything, and strips off his boots and then his jeans and boxers. 

“Spread your legs,” Slade says, then spanks him when he doesn’t. The pain had faded to an ache and Jason moans when it flares up again. He spreads his legs. Slade grabs his hips and yanks his ass up a few inches into the air; Jason has barely any leverage on his knees at the edge of the mattress with his torso laying flat on the bed and his calves sticking off the side. 

It’s a demeaning position too, presenting his beaten ass for Slade. Slade knows it and he makes it worse by spreading his ass cheeks and prodding at his hole with both thumbs.

Jason whines in the back of his throat, humiliation rising in him and adding kindling to the flame burning in his gut. Slade reaches for his cock and strokes him again, slower this time but just as harshly. His other hand stays on Jason’s ass, squeezing to draw out pained moans and rubbing at his hole to tease him. 

“Ah!” Jason starts to shake from the strain of holding the position. Slade pays that no mind. 

“You tell me before you come,” he says in a low voice, like a threat. 

The edge comes up more slowly this time, partly because of the dual sensation and partly because Jason has to focus so hard on keeping his position, his muscles tense and sweat dripping down his sides. He can’t say it too soon, or Slade will know he’s lying, and he can’t say it too late. 

Finally he feels it build up just far enough and shouts, “Now, now!”

Slade drops his cock and wraps that hand around the front of his thigh to help hold him up as he twitches, his body trying in vain to come. 

When he takes that hand away Jason takes that as permission to flop down flat on the bed. He twitches when his hard cock gets squished between his stomach and the bed, but it’s not enough to get him to come, not anymore. Slade spreads his ass and watches his hole clench around nothing. 

“There you go,” Slade says. “That’s it. Good boy.” 

Jason lets out a deep breath almost like a sob. He was crying before, but he’s not anymore. He rarely continues crying afterwards. 

“You took it all,” Slade says, and that’s the highest praise Jason ever lets himself take. His chest fills with something similar to the pride in Slade’s voice. He did. He took it all. “Do you want to come?”

Jason’s breath hitches. He gets to decide things when he’s been good, and being asked means he’s good, means he’s forgiven. He grinds against the bed lazily, thinking about it. His cock isn’t fully hard after the second edge but it throbs with need, hot and heavy between his legs. It feels good. He likes the feeling, he likes being hot and aching everywhere. His ass hurts and he’s unsatisfied, and he’s both of those things for Slade. It’s good. 

“No,” he says. “‘M good.” He reaches for Slade and the next second Slade’s in bed with him, both of them lying sideways across the mattress without proper leg room, until Slade shimmies them upright. Jason reaches for his cock. 

Slade puts his hand over Jason’s. “I’ll wait for you,” he says. 

Jason smirks. He thinks about making a joke about how Slade’s refractory period isn’t what it used to be, but exhaustion drags at his eyelids. His head drops to Slade’s chest. He’ll remember the quip for when he wakes up.


End file.
